The Duriel Chronicles
by Grimol
Summary: Duriel, the Prince of Pain, thought to be dead is now back and he has business in the town of Ambervile.


Outside, the once bustling town of Ambervile lay still and barren. The merchants were all but non-existent as well as its customers. The town crier whose voice could be heard across the land was absent. Even the children that ran through the alleys and up the cobblestone roads were hidden from sight. But inside the coliseum that once held blood thirsty battles and the cries of the gladiators was now silent and awaiting the voice of the people that now sat inside.

A man wearing a tattered shirt as well as a mud stained breeches stood and went to the ground for all to see and hear. The crowd waited with bated breath as the tensions grew. "You all know why I have called you here today," the man began. "It is to explain the reason for the darker times still to come. We have been unruly with ourselves and have sinned and having angered God-"

"-God? Don't make me laugh you simpleton oaf." gawked a shadowy figure that approached the middle of the arena, kicking up the loose brown dirt as he went with his cloak trailing behind and staff in hand. "You all believe that this, God, is doing this to you because of the evil deeds done in this here city? Now how can we all be certain that this is the doings of A god and not something else?" The shadowy figured inquired with a booming voice.

The man in the tattered shirt looked at the man with disbelief and disgust. "You think that this is not the work of our God? There is only one God-"

"Silence, I didn't come here to be lectured by your sharp tongue, Mr. Stalwood." The shadowy figure interjected. "Why are we so quick to come to conclusions of our own when no one around us knows the answer?" He demanded. "Why is it that when the whole world goes bad around us, we say it was the doings of our God? Yet, which 'God' is the one responsible?"

"There is only one God in this town, and if you don't explain yourself this instant!" raged Mr. Stalwood.

The shadowy figured let out a heavy sigh and pointed his gnarled staff that twisted with the branch that was intertwined within, and bellowed at Mr. Stalwood, "Steel your tongue mortal, for if you don't withhold your words, I will make sure they will be your last." The man directed his attention to his now frightened audience and continued, "To the north, we have the Witches of Siden whom believe in not a God, but a demon that wishes nothing more then for the burning and damnation of all opposed to their ways. To the south, the Monks and over-zealous Knights of the Holy Order annex the countries around them and force their beliefs unto their societies for their loving and caring God. And here, we have nothing more then a bunch of fools who know no more about their own god then the god of others!"

"I've had enough of this, you better leave at once or I will have to escort you out of here."

The shadowy man said with a whisper, "I told you to steel your tongue, Mr. Stalwood." With that, Mr. Stalwood froze in his steps and started violently trembling. His eyes rolled in their sockets as he started to choke and gasp for air as if it weren't there. He fell to his knees and coughed viscous with blood pouring out of his mouth. Mr. Stalwood reached for the man screaming, "Curse you! I damn you to hell! Damn you I say and may your children rot in the very hell you created upon yourself and upon others." He choked once more, aching for air to seep into his lungs, and fell face first into the muck and grim.

The audience was now screaming and began to rise and make for the exit.

"Silence!" Boomed the shadowy man, and everyone stopped, for fear of what was next. "I am not done, now sit before I force you. You have now witnessed what MY god can do. But then again, he is no God, but something more. I ask you, why do we so eagerly believe in the demons but not a God? Because the brutal reality of the world forces us to think that such kindness from an other worldly being is preposterous, so we believe in an inevitable damnation should we fail to follow." On that note, he pointed his staff at a young mistress in the crowd, "You my dear, you shall wrought forth these very demons I speak of. For as the saying goes, 'If a woman doth scream in the forest and no one is there to hear it, doth she make a sound?' The answer is, 'Nay, she doth not make a sound,' but instead, she trembles the very foundations of the world as her departing brings forth the undoing of us all."

He lowered his staff and pulled back his hood, revealing himself. His jet black hair only heighten the tension and fear with the scar running down his left cheek and eye. His clean shaven face even more provoked them. But it was his eyes, his colorless eyes, that frightened them all the most. He raised his voice once more and smiled, "My name is Duriel, and my God have mercy on your souls."


End file.
